


Prerogative

by kikaikitai



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, Old Fic Repost, Violence, bed bugs knife dicking dick knives???, mech gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikaikitai/pseuds/kikaikitai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knock Out has a mission with Hardshell, who was given a task. Violence, mech gore, inspired by bedbugs?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prerogative

**Author's Note:**

> It's technically not interfacing or non-con, but is meant to mimic it in a really strange way, so I put a warning. Inspired by how bedbugs mate.
> 
> Old fic repost.

Insecticons. Insecticons everywhere.

Slimy, gross, clicky, stupid Insecticons. And the way they cried out— _ugh_. Knock Out wanted to push every one of them into the Pit.

Vehicons were one thing. Though they were drones, they were still Cybertronians. They may have lacked a natural spark, but they weren't abominations.

Hardshell and his clones should be vaporized. Knock Out believed this to his core.

Being teamed with the monster was the last thing he wanted. He would rather let Soundwave hack his systems. That wasn't a bad idea, actually. Maybe later he could work up the courage to proposition the pretty ex-gladiator. If it didn't work at least it'd be good for a laugh.

But for now he was roaming a dark cave with a big ugly Insecticon thunking behind him.

"Must you be so loud?" Knock Out snapped, looking down at the device in his servo.

Hardshell didn't bother responding, tilting his helm up and ventilating inwards to let his filters analyze the musky cavern air.

"We are approaching an energon deposit," he vocalized in his usual deep growl.

"No, _really?_ " Knock Out snorted.

That was when the medic stumbled, feeling a servo on his back. He whipped around, dentae bared. Hardshell was easily twice his size, and leaned down, mandibles clicking threateningly.

Knock Out wasn't about to let a lesser life form fuck with him. "Know your place, Insecticon."

"Perhaps it is _you_ that needs to learn his place." Crimson optical strip gleamed ominously.

"You wouldn't dare speak that way to Lord Megatron," the Decepticon challenged, clenching servo into a fist.

A laugh rumbled from deep in Hardshell's armored chest. "Megatron is not a whining, preening newspark of a physician whose only instincts are to protect his plating or to..." The next sound that came out of the Insecticon's toothed maw was not of Earth origin. It was low, grating and pitched high at the end with a deliberate pop of static. It was a vulgar word, Decepticon dialect, one that would make even an older Vehicon's faceplate heat. Finding an Earth English equivalent would take a bit of research but the bug couldn't be bothered. For all intents and purposes, the word meant _to_ _get fucked._ And it was anything but positive.

Knock Out's parts shifted loudly as he brought his saw out. "Speak again, bug, I _dare_ you," he growled through denta.

Hardshell inclined his helm with a crickle of his jaws, amused. "Do you believe Megatron sent me to be your backup? You are worthless," he vocalized, brassy and chuckling. "Now that the traitorous Seeker is gone, you are nothing but polished shareware whose only function is to ease the drones of their overcharge."

The doctor lunged. A deafening clang rang in the cave as the Insecticon caught his arm easily. The weapon spun and spun, fed by rage.

He kicked himself free and backed up before staring at the beast. "Let's settle this. I'm not afraid of a bug."

Hardshell only shrieked his concurrence, maw wide as he charged. The medic hopped back, avoiding a claw swipe. He swung his weapon as he jumped, and the bug ducked his shoulder before grabbing Knock Out by the leg and throwing him down the corridor.

Mid-air the 'Con transformed into a car and flipped around, racing at his enemy. Hardshell anticipated a crash and spread his clawed pedes. Mere meters away, Knock Out shifted to root mode and leapt up—his saw clipped a large chunk of shoulder armor off of the Insecticon.

"Enough!" Hardshell roared, closing claws around Knock Out's leg again. The smaller frame slammed into the rocky ground and his other servo snapped pin the doctor's shoulder.

Energy fields clashed, rattling and buzzing with fury and centuries of animosity and prejudice. Most of all there was the desire to kill.

"I would bleed you out here and now," Hardshell growled over Knock Out, globs of liquid pooling around his fangs. Gravity was unkind and pulled a few drops down to red chestplate and the doctor's optics darted down as acid burned his finish.

"What's stopping you?" Knock Out dared, audacious as ever.

Hardshell gave a low growl, gurgling as venom churned in his freakish innards. Something sounded, like a blade being unsheathed and red optics searched all around. The claw holding onto his leg moved to hold above the knee and shift him, and the medic found himself half-way off the ground, aligned with Insecticon chassis.

"What the frag are you—"

A _very_ pointy something tapped his aft and nestled against it. Then came a tingle, the same as the drool burning a hole into his chest.

There wasn't really such a thing as an Insecticon physician. For the most part any doctor could have a look at them and fix them up. But they were very different from normal Cybertronians. They had different kinds of fluid reserves, different places weapons were kept. Knock Out didn't even know if they could interface, not that he cared to find out.

It wasn't a huge surprise to learn that an Insecticon would have something of a chassis blade. It probably proved useful in battle, considering their middles were tapered and flexible. A lot of force could be put behind such a weapon.

For a bug this size, it was a common tactic: pin your enemy, stab the Pit out of them, pump them full of acid and watch them writhe.

Realization and terror marred Knock Out's energy field, masked under thinly pressed mouthplates and a firm glare.

Hardshell leaned down into that glare, tusks stretching to scrape over Knock Out's helm. They retracted and slashed over the crest, causing the 'Con to flinch. The gash was bright with energon, which a mandible sought out in order to bring to Hardshell's long glossa. He tasted the life fluid, plating flaring in a display of dominance.

"Do you submit..." Hardshell grunted almost subvocally. "... to a lesser life form?"

The cavern was silent but for their ventilations, the scrape of the beast's hold on Knock Out's leg, the clicking of feral jaws.

Knock Out's optics remained unyielding in their glower.

" _No."_

Hardshell tightened his grip and rammed hips forward. Metal dented loudly under the force of the blade. Knock Out twisted in his hold uselessly, servos pushing at large armored knees like that would do anything to stop him.

Grunting, the Insecticon tugged at the smaller frame underneath him, repositioned—and slammed again. Metal gave, but it wasn't enough and so he _bent_ Knock Out over himself, silver little pedes-tips flailing in disarray. One, two, and three, he pounded him down, thrusting the blade in until an audible crack sounded and Knock Out choked as energon burst in a gurgle from his mouth.

The doctor's systems were alight with warnings. Armor punctured, energon lines severed. His headlights flickered feebly. Hardshell's weapon was concealed deep inside of him, a length of piercing cold metal. He could feel clearly the tip prodding underneath his abdominal plating. It would take just one swift movement to eviscerate him.

Knock Out's helm thunked back as a tremor rose in his plating. A shake born of agony, of energon flooding his insides, of various memory files forcibly launching in his processor. His optics rolled around as a wash of delirium passed over him.

He distantly felt fluid spilling from his pelvic array, and the claws that had been so desperately attempting to stop Hardshell weakened and lowered.

Hardshell had been watching. Drinking in his prey's uncertainty. His fear. His pain.

The monster stretched his upper body down again; ugly faceplate mere inches from Knock Out's finely plated one. Energon still spilled from lip plates in a steady flow.

Hardshell turned his helm to the side, audials charging high. Not that they needed to. Knock Out's spark oscillated at such a speed that it was a wonder he didn't burn out right there. But that wasn't the way he was going to offline. Hardshell knew this. He tilted his helm back up and observed hungrily as Knock Out spluttered energon.

"Know this—" Hardshell hissed, pulling his blade back half-way before thrusting back into the chasm he'd made. Knock Out arched and screamed, pain receptors now heightened as energy rushed to protect every delicate circuit and wire.

Another thrust. "—to your very spark," he continued, mandibles excitedly clipping at Knock Out's chest before pulling back.

 _In_ , blade crushing circuit boards, rupturing tank. Knock Out's optics began to flash.

"You were offlined—"

 _Out_ , blade dragging and fraying wires. Vocalizer malfunctioned, spitting random tones and static.

"—by an _Insecticon!"_

A final drive in, gripping the small mech flush against him, and Hardshell threw his helm back in a shrieking howl. Acid filled Knock Out's viscera in an audible hiss.

Metal withered, wires and cables disintegrated, engine melted in a painful whirr.

Ventilations came in short stutters. Smaller, slender claws twitched over the rocky ground. Blue-stained denta parted soundlessly.

Hardshell kept his blade deep inside even as hard drive failure became apparent in spasms, feeling a strong surge of heat. He watched as the telling silence of system shut down filled the cavern and life clung to those striking crimson optics.

Mercy was not an instinctual trait to an Insecticon. They did not do favors. They did not forgive.

What compelled him to give the final killing blow, he didn't know nor did he waste processor power on it.

What he did know was that Knock Out died by _his_ blade.

It was _he_ who felt the fluctuations in the dying mech's field—unbridled fear followed by anger and finally a deep sorrow. Vorns of mourning for their homeworld, grieving long dead companions—all flooded into his energy field, reaching out in a desperate, involuntary rhythm.

The strongest was regret. Regret that he didn't live long enough to see Cybertron restored. Some regret, even, Hardshell detected, for aligning with the Decepticons. Interesting.

Hardshell ruthlessly consumed every ounce of unfiltered emotion pouring from Knock Out in his terminal moments.

He alone owned those final pulses of life.

He alone gazed into those optics as they went dark.

He alone claimed Knock Out's spark. And no higher life form could ever take that from him.


End file.
